


Thursday at Noon

by Carry_On_Destiel (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkwardness, Fluff, M/M, Morning After, One Night Stands, Single Parent Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7151186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Carry_On_Destiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly single dad, Castiel Novak, is stressed out. He is fighting tooth and nail to be awarded 50/50 custody of his 3 yr old daughter, he has just bought a new house in a sleepy little town, he has bills piling up and the deadline on his latest novel is fast approaching. A day of running errands with Claire takes an unexpectedly pleasant turn when they stop to visit the playground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at a non-canon domestic-y AU. 
> 
> Wish me luck lol

The day had turned out far nicer than Castiel had expected when he woke up to a wall of ominous grey clouds and a damp chill in the air. Now it was nearly 11:30 and the sun was shining down happily, burning away the puddles left by last night's thunderstorm. Castiel helped Claire out of her car seat; waiting patiently as the three year old insisted that she could unbuckle the top strap herself. She couldn't of course, and Castiel freed her from the offending safety harness once she threw up her hands with frustrated groan. The pair conscientiously looked both ways before crossing the street, and entered the cool interior of the small grocery store. Castiel selected an ancient-looking grocery cart from the line and offered to lift Claire into the basket seat but she shook her blonde curls vehemently; instead scurrying to the front of the cart and clinging on gleefully.  
  
"Oh you have to ride up front?" Castiel smiled a little wearily as his daughter's bright grin bobbed in a happy nod. "Okay then, hold on tight."  
  
The newly single father steered his cart toward the first aisle, surprised that the rickety-looking thing was actually moving in a straight line. He bypassed the shelves crammed with soda and gaudily colored bags of chips - he rarely felt the need to consume empty calories such as those - and came to a halt next to the dairy cooler. He selected a gallon of milk, a carton of eggs, a tub of margarine and some yogurt with a cartoon cow on the label. Claire loved yogurt in the mornings. Next was the bakery section and Castiel was pleased to see that his favorite brand of whole grain flax bread was on half price. He checked the expiration date on the bread, reassuring himself before gently depositing the loaves in the basket. Claire bounced off of her perch and rushed over to a clearance bin, rifling through it enthusiastically.  
  
"Claire, honey, you have to stay with the cart please." he reminded her calmly just as the little girl let out a crow of excitement and held up a crinkled blue and orange bag.  
  
"Daddy, daddy can we get fishy crackers? Please please please!" She hopped towards him, blue eyes shining with hope.  
  
"Sure sweetie, just set them in the cart." Castiel conceded quickly. His daughter deserved a small treat after everything she had been through in the past few months, "We better hurry, though,  if we are going to meet your new teacher today."  
  
Claire grasped the front of the cart again, clutching her precious bag of crackers with one hand while Castiel quickly maneuvered through the remaining aisles, stocking up on everything his dismally bare kitchen might need.  
  
As they approached the till, Castiel wrestled a five dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to his daughter, "Here sweetie, give that to the lady and she'll give you the crackers."  
  
"Yay!" Claire grinned widely and rushed over to throw the crackers and the bill onto the conveyor belt, her delight making her rather more aggressive than necessary.  
  
The cashier smiled indulgently at the little girl as she rung up the single item, "Will that be everything for you today?"  
  
Claire glanced back at her father, who nodded reassuringly, and Claire in turn nodded to the cashier, suddenly shy. The cashier handed over the little bag and 3 dollars change which Claire immediately pressed into Castiel's palm, as she tried to tear open her prize. Castiel paid for his groceries, hoping the fish-shaped crackers wouldn't be launched all over the store once she managed to get the bag open.  
  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Five minutes later, Castiel was pulling up to the local Catholic elementary school. It was earlier than he thought; his meeting with Mrs. Jenner wasn't until 1:30, he had over an hour to spare. Blowing out a sigh, Castiel cut the engine and helped Claire out of her seat again. The pair wandered about the school grounds at a leisurely pace, until they reached the far corner of the single story brick building and Claire spotted the brightly colored playground equipment.  
  
"Daddy, can I go play?" Claire stared up at him, already starting to drift in that direction but knowing not to rush off without his okay. All it took was a single nod and she was darting away like a rabbit, scaling the short rock wall with surprising ease. Castiel circled the play area, his sharp gaze searching for any potential dangers the quaint little park might be hiding. The equipment all appeared to be in good condition and the only litter on the ground was a single can of some sort of energy drink. Castiel deposited the can in the nearby garbage can, wishing that there was a recycling bin to use instead.  
  
"Daddy, lookit me!" Claire's bright little voice rang out from the highest platform. She was perched in front of the slide, waiting for Castiel's full attention before swinging herself forward and racing down to the sand below, squealing delightedly the entire way down. Castiel jogged over to meet her at the bottom, chuckling as she charged up the nearest ramp to do it over again. Castiel's heart swelled as her watched his adventurous child sprint across the short bridge, fingers thumping on the safety rails as she ran.  
  
Lowering himself onto a creatively painted wooden bench, Castiel settled in to watch Claire play, hoping that she could burn off some of her boundless energy before their appointment with her future preschool instructor. His fingers twitched toward his pocket, where his smartphone was beckoning him. There were so many emails he could be answering right now, in this rare moment of free time. Castiel hated being one of  _those_ parents, whose eyes were constantly glued to a screen rather than drinking in every moment with his kid. With a groan, Castiel finally succumbed to the temptation, promising himself that he would only respond to the top three emails in his inbox.  
  
**Realtor** : More papers for him to sign, conditions were finally to be removed from his new home. Castiel typed out a quick confirmation that he could swing by their office around 3:00 pm.  
  
**Divorce lawyer** : Another custody hearing on the 16th and his ex-wife was seeking higher monthly child support payments. As if a struggling author could afford that, on top of lawyer's fees, realtor's fees, a new mortgage and God knows how many other expenses. As it was, he was already looking for part-time work to make ends meet. He gritted his teeth and punched his answer in with his thumbs; he would be there to fight for his daughter but there was no way he was going to give Hannah an extra dime.  
  
**Editor** : Crowley was breathing down his neck, threatening Castiel with the looming deadline for his third novel. It scarcely warranted a response. Crowley would be snide and domineering regardless of when Castiel delivered the manuscript. Castiel managed a short, relatively polite reply before finally tucking his phone away again and turning his attention back to the platinum blonde head weaving through the dome-like monkey bars.  
  
Out of his peripheral vision, Castiel noticed someone approaching the monkey bar area, moving at a determined pace. Castiel was on his feet immediately, striding towards Claire as he eyed the stranger warily.  
  
_What is a bearded man in ratty jeans doing at a playground this time of day?_ Castiel wondered suspiciously as he positioned himself between the stranger and his daughter. Just in case. Castiel felt a twinge of guilt for his knee-jerk reaction. He knew he shouldn't make snap judgements about people but Cas had always been overly cautious, even as a child. The tall man stopped at a garden shed, located unobtrusively among several tall trees and Castiel released his pent-up breath in a whoosh as the man pulled open the door to reveal a riding lawn mower and various other lawn care implements. Just a groundskeeper then.  
  
Castiel's guilty feelings returned in full-force when the groundskeeper fired up his lawnmower and shot Castiel a cheery grin before inserting his earbuds and starting off. His first slow lap took him in the opposite direction around the spacious soccer field, the dull whir of the blades and grumbling engine faded away slowly. Castiel relaxed back onto the bench, calling out a tentative warning as Claire scaled the steel dome with all the agility of a capuchin monkey and perched boldly atop the slippery-looking structure. Castiel knew better than to rush over to rescue her from a potential fall. His child was inexplicably bold and independent. It scared the hell out of him.  
  
Claire gestured widely with her tiny arms, trying to make her voice sound deep and imperious. "I am King of the playground, Daddy!" She furrowed her brow sternly, pointing directly at Castiel's chest, "Bring me a juice box!"  
  
Castiel raised his hands in submission, bowing slightly as he fought to conceal a smile, "My apologies, Your Highness, we seem to have forgotten the juiceboxes in the van."  
  
Claire's eyes narrowed, clearly weighing the importance of that juice box. Eventually she decided that playing was a higher priority because soon she was clambering down from the monkey bars and half-skipped, half-ran back to the spiral slide. After a few minutes, the rumble of the lawnmower returned, increasing in volume as the unnamed driver drew nearer. This time Castiel resolved to keep an open mind as he glanced up at the approaching man.  
  
His breath caught in his lungs.  
  
The man was gorgeous. His light brown hair was longer at the top but shaved away at the temples in a striking style, one which Castiel had generally associated with hipsters and metrosexual-types. Normally that wouldn't catch Castiel's attention, but somehow this man was able to wear the trend with a sort of casual confidence that Castiel couldn't look away from. He was also blessed with a short, perfectly groomed beard and full, soft-looking lips. Castiel licked his own slightly chapped lower lip unconsciously, as his gaze centered on that delicious mouth. Distracted as he was by the sight, Castiel barely registered that the lawnmower was drawing closer and closer.  
  
The driver's eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirrored aviators but his lips pulled into a cocky smirk as he noticed Castiel's sudden interest. Castiel felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up his neck and looked away quickly while the machine growled slowly past his rainbow-hued bench. Determinedly watching Claire again, Castiel waited until the low roar was a safe distance away before sneaking another glance at the attractive groundskeeper. He looked nearly as good driving away; broad shoulders set at a nonchalant angle, black tee shirt pulled tight over his muscular back. Castiel's gaze drifted lower but the man's ass was obscured by the low seat of the mower. _Too bad,_ he mused, realizing that his lower lip was caught between his teeth.  
  
Three laps and one surreptitious photograph later, Castiel reluctantly gathered up Claire and led her back around to the front entrance of the school. His final 'subtle' glance back at his new crush was met with a sarcastic little salute and a grin. Castiel blushed hotly as he hurried inside. He felt certain that the man's wink had been masked by the shiny sunglasses he wore. Castiel helped Claire out of her shoes, as per the sign, now wondering what color those hidden eyes might be...  
  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Not quite thirty minutes later, Castiel pushed open the heavy brown door again, squinting against the merciless afternoon sun. That hadn't gone exactly as he had hoped but at least Claire's preschool arrangements for the coming year were made and he would be receiving her schedule in a few weeks time. Only two days a week, the other days she would have to attend daycare. Which was expensive. Castiel mentally tried to add up the cost per month and factor it into his already overstressed budget. Claire grabbed his hand, immediately steering him back toward the playground equipment. Castiel resisted, pulling her up short and trying to ignore the stubborn jut of her chin.  
  
"C'mon Claire, we don't have time for playing, Daddy has too much to do." He kept his tone gentle but firm. It was true, he had to meet the realtor and go to the bank and speak to the post office and after that, if he had any shred of energy left, he had hoped to return home to write another chapter or twelve. "And its already past lunchtime, aren't you hungry?"  
  
Claire shrugged melodramatically, "No, I'm not hungry Daddy. The teacher gave me a juice box." she tapped a finger to her chin thoughtfully, "And a banana. And granola bar. And crackers. And milk."  
  
"What?" Castiel broke into a chuckle at her growing recital, poking her round tummy teasingly, "Where do you put it all? You must be stuffed right up to your ears!"  
  
Claire covered her ears (to keep the food in) and bellowed, "Please can we play on the swings, Daddy?! Just one turn, I promise!"

Castiel sighed, shaking his head at her priceless antics, "Fine, one turn on the swing then you have to push me, okay?"  
  
"YAY!" Claire whirled and began sprinting as fast as her three year old legs could carry her, with Castiel hot on her heels. They rounded the corner and found themselves face to face with the sexy gardener. Claire merely dodged around the inconvenient obstacle and kept running, leaving Castiel to skid to an awkward halt, nearly yelping in shock.   
  
"OH!" Castiel just had time to notice that the sunglasses had been removed before he was caught in a stunning green maelstrom. The man's eyes were even more gorgeous than the rest of him combined... _Well..._ Castiel's gaze slid back to those pink, cupid's bow lips again... _Maybe not._ This close he could practically taste how soft they would be..  
  
"Uh." Castiel heard yet another wordless monosyllable fall from his stuttering lips and tried desperately to regain control of his mental faculties, "I-I'm sorry about that. Just, uh, kids, y'know.."  
  
The stranger very deliberately did not step back, despite Castiel standing less than six inches from his face. His eyes sparkled with a nearly impish sort of glee and Castiel knew immediately that this man was all kinds of trouble. So much trouble. Not the kind of man that a recent divorcee with a kid needed to get involved with. _Wow, look at those freckles._ So much trouble, Castiel reminded himself again. Then the man spoke.  
  
"Don't worry about it," his voice was rich and deep, tinged with amusement and something else. Something smoky and sweet and utterly sensual. "I was just finishing up for the day. Guess you'll have to scope out Mister Gibson for the rest of the afternoon." he gestured toward the elderly man pushing a mower in a yard across the street.  
  
Castiel flushed right down to his toes, which curled up inside his shiny leather shoes, "I-what? I didn't-wasn't...No." _God, what was happening to him right now? He was a published author, not a nervous stammering schoolboy!_ "I was not 'scoping you out', I'm spending the day with my daughter." Castiel cringed as his hands mimed quotation marks in the air without his permission.  
  
"Is that so?" the amusement was thicker now and it caused shiver to crawl up Castiel's spine, "So if I were to look at your phone right now, you're saying I _wouldn't_ find a picture of myself next to that goalpost?"  
  
"What is or isn't on my personal phone is none of your concern." Castiel squared his shoulders, slightly annoyed by the stranger's arrogance now. Correct or not, he didn't find that cocksure attitude appealing. That's what he tried to tell himself anyway. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to push my daughter on the swings please."  
  
Green eyes raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, "Didn't realize I was stopping you."  
  
Castiel felt his cheeks warm again. It was true, the man had not done anything to physically prevent him from passing. Only the magnetic appeal of those eyes was holding him there. Finally Castiel managed to get the signal from his brain to his legs, reminding them how to walk. He brushed past the gardener, head held high and crossed swiftly to where Claire was waiting patiently on the big kid swing.  
  
"Hey." the honeyed whiskey voice stopped Castiel in his tracks.  
  
Castiel turned, pasting a look of indifference on his face, "Yes?"  
  
"My name's Dean." he winked lazily, "Welcome to Lawrence."


	2. Chapter 2

The following week was hectic but Castiel managed to get through it with most of his sanity intact. It was Wednesday now and Claire was back in Topeka with her mother and Hannah's new boyfriend. Castiel missed his little girl like a physical ache when she was so far away. Still, he had to admit it was far easier to focus on writing when he wasn't drowning in guilt for ignoring her. He knew that Claire understood that writing was Daddy's job and she was perfectly content to color and play pretend and watch silly cartoons while he was occupied, but that didn't make him feel any better about it. So Castiel hunched over his uncharacteristically tidy desk, staring at the empty screen on his laptop, willing words to dance off his fingertips and onto the page the way they used to.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Castiel ground the heel of his hand between his eyebrows and made a sound like a wounded moose. Finally he slammed the laptop shut, the force of it sending several papers fluttering to the floor. Castiel stared at them dully. They were just as mockingly blank as the laptop. Castiel hadn't been able to write a single word since Hannah had told him.  
  
  
_She had come to him late in the afternoon, while Claire was napping, and shut his laptop, mid-sentence. Castiel had stared up at her in surprise and confusion, he didn't recognize that expression on her face. It was equal parts sad and determined. Hannah had squeezed his hand in her pale slender fingers and started to speak._  
  
_"Castiel, I want a divorce."_  
  
_His mouth had fallen open, disbelief rendering him speechless._  
  
_"I love you, Castiel, and I believe that you love me too but we both know that this marriage is... its not **real** anymore." Her voice had caught slightly, as if it genuinely did pain her to say it._  
  
_Castiel hadn't been able to comprehend what she was saying, it was just too irrational. They had been together for fourteen years. Married for eleven! They were happy! Or so he had thought, "Wh- I don't. Hannah, why are you saying this? Is this supposed to be some sort of prank?"_  
  
_"I'm sorry, Castiel, I truly am." A single tear had slid down her cheek, "I have to - I should tell you that I... I've met someone else. I never meant for it to happen, Castiel, I swear to you! I just.. I needed more than you were able to give."_  
  
_"You..." His brain had stuttered to a halt, "You've already... you're seeing someone else? You're leaving me for another man, Hannah?" It was a struggle to keep his voice from rising with the sudden rage that was clawing its way up his throat, strangling his senses, blurring his vision. The hot hazy feeling in his chest was suffocating, "I have to go."_  
  
_"Castiel, wait! Please!" She had caught at his arm with her slim fingers, trying to keep him from storming off, "You can't just run away from this!"_  
  
_"WHY **NOT**?" His carefully restrained temper had snapped then; vicious anger boiling out of his stomach like acid, stinging and burning everything it touched, "THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT YOU ARE DOING, HANNAH!" His chest was heaving with the suddenness of his outburst and Hannah had cringed away from him, eyes wary as a feral cat, "I'm sorry, Hannah. I need some time.. I need to process this."_  
  
  
That was six months ago.  
  
Castiel leapt to his feet. He needed a drink.  
  
  
\--------------------------------------------------  
  
  
The socially-awkward author entered the crowded pub cautiously, his keen eyes absorbing the scene at a glance. He saw the partially inebriated patrons crowded around the pool table in the corner, downing pitchers of beer like it was the last night on earth. He saw the pretty waitresses in their revealing skirts, weaving skillfully through the crowd as they delivered drinks and cleared tables with the quick efficiency of people who had been doing this job for years. There were clusters of people milling about, everybody seemed to have their own group and very few people strayed from their chosen drinking mates, unless it was to approach a member of the opposite sex. Castiel hadn't been in a bar in years. He stood at the doorway, warring with himself.  
  
One part of him - the sensible, responsible, family man part - told him that he should just go home and crawl into bed. Maybe drink a cup of soothing chamomile tea.  
  
The other part of him - the part that was still raging and vengeful - reminded him that he didn't _have_ a home any more. He had an empty house. That voice told him to march up to that damn bar and order a fucking drink.  
  
So he did.  
  
Three scotch and sodas later, his fingertips were buzzing pleasantly and his head felt slightly fuzzy when he turned too quickly. That was odd, wasn't it? Surely he used to be able to drink far more than three shots, before he was anywhere near this state. Still though, it felt wonderful. It was as though all of his stress was just melting away, being carried off by the throbbing beat of the music. He didn't recognize the song. Hadn't recognized any of them, really, but they had a good heavy rhythm and the bass was so deep it seemed to be vibrating up through the soles of his shoes. Castiel twisted on his barstool, turning to peer over the crowd again. It was different now. All the groups had melded, blending and swirling in a mass of disorder and chaos. The timid part of Castiel's brain disliked the evolution; it missed the orderly groups, easily categorized and understood. But that other side of him, the side he had buried down deep years ago, was enjoying the unpredictable beauty of it all.  
  
Castiel's eyes were half-closed as he swayed to the hypnotic rhythm, drifting farther away from his problems. A tap on the shoulder brought him back to the present, startling back to Sensible Castiel for a moment. He turned to see the bartender offering him a fourth scotch and soda, which he was quite certain he had not ordered.  
  
"From the guy in the Zeppelin tee shirt." The bartender raised her voice just enough, and he followed the line of her arm until he spotted the tee shirt in question. Then he saw who the tee shirt was attached to and his heart skipped a beat. _Dean_.  
  
"Oh, er, thank you," he mumbled, far too late - she was already moving away to serve the swelling line of customers. Castiel lost sight of Dean in the milling crowd and felt a moment of panic as he scanned the dimly lit bar. Where had he gone? He was just right.. _there_... Castiel slumped back into his seat, the edge of the bar digging uncomfortably into his spine. The flood of excitement that had filled his chest, making him feel giddy and floaty and nervous, was fading quickly. He sipped the drink in his hand absently then paused. Frowning, Castiel took another sip. That was not the cheap scotch and soda he was used to-  
  
"Top shelf." The smooth voice in his ear made Castiel jump with surprise, "Looked like you could use the good stuff tonight."  
  
Dean was leaning casually against the bar, arrogant smirk firmly in place as he watched Castiel wipe away the spilled liquid from his stubbly chin. A mix of gratitude and irritation tugged Castiel in opposite directions. Who was this guy, to afford top shelf scotch? And who in their right mind mixed quality scotch with Coke? Castiel only tolerated the soda because the scotch he generally ordered was piss.  
  
"Thanks for the drink." Castiel raised his glass in a faintly mocking toast, "Seems a waste of good scotch, though." Then he drained the rest in one gulp. His eyes watered from the fizz, the effervescence tickled his nose and stung his throat.  
  
Dean chuckled, his eyes crinkling beautifully at the corners as he laughed easily and openly, "Well, you're not wrong about that." he signaled the bartender again, "Hey Shel, Bowmore, neat. Make it two."  
  
She quirked an eyebrow but didn't question him, returning swiftly with two tumblers of the amber liquid, "That'll be forty-two dollars, Dean. On your tab?"  
  
The confident visage flickered just for the briefest second before Dean nodded, and dropped a five in the tip jar. Castiel was staring openly now, his usual shyness mitigated by the alcohol searing through his veins. Dean bobbed his eyebrows in a comical mimicry of flirtation as he handed Castiel his fifth drink of the evening.  
  
"You know, I am perfectly capable of supplying my own alcohol." Castiel hadn't taken a sip of his scotch yet, a hesitance borne of natural caution, "I'd like to pay for both of the drinks you've gotten me... And-" he dug in his trouser pocket awkwardly from his sitting position, locating a handful of coins and a crumpled one, "I can tip too." He dumped the handful of shiny dimes and quarters into the jar, barely noticing that most of them had missed and were careening to the floor.  
  
Dean only laughed again, leaning closer to be heard over the throb of the music, "Nah, its on me. No strings attached, I swear." that emerald gaze skated down and back up again, "Although... I didn't get your name yet."  
  
"...Castiel." he muttered, feeling flustered by Dean's proximity. The man smelled like engine oil and freshly cut grass and something less definable. Castiel wanted to bury his face in the soft curve of his neck and _taste_ whatever it was that made Dean smell so irresistible.  
  
"Sorry," Dean shifted even closer, the tops of his thighs nudging against Castiel's knees as he pushed into the quiet author's space, "I didn't catch that."  
  
Castiel's skin felt hot and tingly, the warm buzz of the alcohol drowning out every thought, replacing them with a maddening urge to lunge forward and kiss this stunning, cocky stranger. Castiel took a steadying sip of cool amber fluid, scarcely noticing the smooth smoky flavor with hints of cocoa and oak.  
  
"My name is Castiel. Castiel Novak." He repeated himself, closing the little distance that remained between them to speak directly into Dean's ear. It was foolish and he knew it, but the wilder side of his personality was cheering him on as he allowed his fingertips to slide up Dean's forearm tentatively. Castiel drew back, certain that he would be shot down. Possibly punched for his presumption. As he refocused his gaze on that lightly freckled face again, Castiel saw only surprised recognition.  
  
"Wait. Castiel Novak?" Dean's deep voice pitched up in excitement, "You mean _the_ Castiel Novak? The author?"  
  
Castiel stared in confusion, squinting at Dean's suddenly animated expression. All sign of his cocky, self-assured attitude had fallen away, replaced with child-like enthusiasm and a faintly manic joy. _Shit._ He was a fan. Somehow it had not even occurred to Castiel that this man would be interested in reading at all, much less reading _his_ quirky brand of fantasy-adventure novels. "Oh. Um yes, I suppose, that's me."  
  
"Holy shit. I gotta call Sammy!" Dean groped at his jeans pocket for a split second, "Shit. Nope. Forgot my phone at the shop. Ah well, I'll tell him later. Sam is never gonna believe this: Castiel friggin' Novak. Wow." Dean was babbling. "I love your books, man, like they are amazing. I can't wait for the next one!"  
  
Castiel tried to stomp down his disappointment. Not that he wasn't flattered and appreciative of the praise - he loved the fans and he was constantly amazed to discover that people truly enjoyed reading his work. But... Castiel sighed, taking another sip of the exquisite scotch, he couldn't bring himself to take advantage of a fan - even one as gorgeous and cocky and utterly perfect as this one.  
  
"Its always a pleasure to meet a fan," Castiel smiled politely, "Thank you for the drink, Dean, but I really ought to be going."  
  
Castiel dismounted the tall stool, without crashing gracelessly to the floor, and pulled on his beige trench coat. Dean's eyes widened in dismay, "Wait, you're leaving? You can't!"  
  
Castiel leveled the man with a haughty gaze, "I can, and I am." Castiel felt a tug of guilt at the way Dean's expression crumpled, "I have a busy day tomorrow, I'm afraid."  
  
"I thought you were a girl." Dean blurted suddenly. His face flared pink and he quickly avoided Castiel's surprised glance.  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"I - uh - I mean, your name and whatever. I thought you were a female author." Dean's blush deepened, somehow highlighting his many freckles, rather than obscuring them, "There was no pictures of you and I've never really heard that kind of name before so I just - I just assumed..."  
  
"Oh." Castiel shrugged, it was an honest mistake. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Dean."  
  
"I'm not." Dean moved forward, "M'not disappointed, Cas. Not at all..." His voice took on a hint of that husky growl that made Castiel's knees weak and his resolve weaker, "Please don't go. I promise I'll keep the fangirling to a minimum. You just caught me off-guard, that's all."  
  
Castiel looked into Dean's earnest face, green eyes shining hopefully, and relented, "I suppose it would be a crime to walk away from a 20 dollar glass of scotch."  
  
Dean grinned as Castiel shrugged out of his long coat again, "Damn straight." he nudged Castiel's arm playfully, "And maybe the next round should be on you, Mister Big-Time Author."  
  
Castiel snorted, wishing he was anywhere near what was considered 'big-time', "Fair enough." He raised the remaining Bowmore, clicking it against Dean's glass in a comradely manner, "Cheers."  
  
  
\---------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
The pair retreated to a quieter corner booth, away from the rushing crowd and over-loud music. In the span of the next two hours, Castiel found himself asking one question after another. Each answer he received only seemed to raise more questions. Dean Winchester was twenty-nine - three years younger than Castiel - he had a younger brother named Sam and he lived and worked with his Uncle Bobby, who had raised both boys after their parents had died in a house fire when Dean was four years old. Castiel had reached across the table instinctively when Dean revealed this piece of information, laying his palm gently over the taller man's work-hardened knuckles.  
  
"Dean.." Castiel, despite words being his main source of income, could not think of anything to say, "I'm so sorry."  
  
Dean seemed to shake off whatever sadness might have settled around his eyes and smiled, "Don't be, Cas. Bobby was real good to us. Taught me everything I know."  
  
After that the conversation had turned to Singer's Salvage  & Auto Repair, which was jointly owned by Bobby Singer and his nephews. Dean had mostly inherited the shop, since Sammy had gone of to college and gotten a job as a History teacher at a local high school and Bobby had retired. The older man still helped out around the shop most days but he had passed the reins to Dean over five years ago, insisting that he'd rather be fishing.  
  
"Yeah, Sam was the brainy one. He never had much interest in being a grease monkey like us." Dean drained the last of his third scotch and soda (they'd gone back to the cheap stuff) and smiled at Castiel, "But being a dirty old mechanic has its perks."  
  
"I'm sure it does," Castiel murmured in reply, admiring the powerful curve of Dean's bicep as the mechanic set his empty glass down, "So, why were you mowing the lawn of an elementary school last week, if you're a successful business owner?"  
  
"Favor for a friend." Dean drummed his fingers on the heavy wooden tabletop, "The guy who usually does 'em threw his back out last week. Looks like he might need surgery. So, I'll take care of things until he's ship-shape again or they hire someone else."  
  
Castiel couldn't help but smile at his own good fortune. What were the chances that Dean would be working on the day that he had that appointment? "That's very generous of you, Dean."  
  
"No big deal," Dean shrugged off the praise, "Its actually a relaxing way to spend my lunch hour."  
  
Privately, Castiel thought that watching Dean had been far from relaxing, but certainly a pleasant way to while away an hour, "Even so, not many people would go to such lengths for a friend."  
  
"You talk like you write." Dean leaned forward on his elbows, eyes bright and curious, "Except I never would have guessed that you had such a sexy voice."  
  
Castiel cursed his cheeks for heating yet again. Dean's flirty nature seemed to emerge at the most random moments and Castiel could never predict when he would say something charmingly sweet or downright erotic. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to break his "No touching the fans" rule. Not that he had ever been tempted to 'hook up' with an admirer before tonight. Castiel had been married for five years before he had finally managed to publish his first novel - this was the first time he had been single since he was eighteen. Castiel licked his lips nervously. God, it had been so long since he had done something like this. Actually, no. He had _never_ done anything like this, not even close.  
  
Castiel had married his high school sweetheart. He had decided that the best possible way to deal with his unacknowledged bisexuality was to fall head over heels in love with a girl and marry her and have a family and live happily ever after. There would never be any need for Castiel to admit that he occasionally had thought about men, or that he had once had a massive crush on the most popular jock in his high school.  
  
Or so he had thought.  
  
But then, after nine and a half nearly-blissful years of marriage, Hannah had begun to ask him about sexual fantasies. They had only ever been with each other, so it was only natural that they would talk about these things. Hannah had admitted that she would like to role play with him, to pretend to meet as strangers in a bar and have a pretend one-night stand. So Castiel had hesitantly revealed that he was attracted to men and women. Hannah's face had gone pale and hard; she had shouted and raged, screaming vile obscenities at him. Accusing him of horrible things. It had been several weeks before he had managed to convince her that he had always been faithful and always would be, that he wasn't interested in anyone else.  
  
Their marriage had never been the same after that.  
  
"Hey, Cas?" Dean's voice broke through Castiel's sudden brooding train of thought, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pressure you or anything."  
  
Castiel blinked, trying to recall what Dean had said to send him into a moody spiral. Oh right, the comment on his voice. His _sexy_ voice. Castiel smiled a little, trying to chase away the miserable thoughts that plagued him, "I assure you, Dean, it was nothing you said. I've simply had too much to drink this evening and I believe its catching up to me."  
  
Dean twisted around in his seat, leaning over the bench to peer at the large clock above the bar. Castiel was too distracted by the generous slice of smooth skin above the man's jeans to offer his cell phone, "Wow, yeah its gettin' late." Dean turned back to see Castiel transfixed by his exposed abdomen. He smoothed his large tan fingers slowly down his obliques, hooking his thumbs in the hem of his shirt and pulled the material down until the dark gold trail of hair leading under his jeans disappeared. His voice husked out, low and smoky, "Unless our night is just getting started?"  
  
Castiel jerked out of his trance, heart pounding wildly. _Yes_. That's what he wanted. Castiel wanted this sexy, funny, kind, glorious man to take him to bed and show him what it was like to be fucked properly. He craved the scrape of Dean's beard and the intensity of his eyes. Castiel _needed_ it more than he needed air.  
  
"I don't have anywhere else to be.." Castiel finally responded, a thrill of nerves making his voice grate ever lower than usual. This was it, he was really going to do this!  
  
Dean's sensual lips pulled into a slow smile and he slid out of the booth with practiced ease, offering Castiel his hand.  
  
"My place, or yours?"


	3. Chapter 3

Why were the birds so loud?  
  
Castiel ground his eyes shut, wincing against the incessant twittering from the yard. The second thing Castiel noticed was that his tongue felt weirdly thick and dry and his head was pounding. Jesus, how much had he drank last night? Castiel sat up slowly, clutching his head to stave off dizziness, and looked around his painfully bare bedroom. A sad-looking dresser stood in the corner across from his cheap steel bed frame with its twelve year old mattress - and scattered between the two appeared to be every article of clothing Castiel owned. The hungover author frowned, squinting at a black t-shirt with an angel emblazoned on the front. Surely that didn't belong to him...  
  
Shit.  
  
_Dean.  
  
_ Castiel whipped around, head screaming in misery as he did, but his bed was empty. Rumpled, but empty. Castiel stared. Was he imagining last night? Memories danced through his fuzzy brain; _a cocky smile and green eyes, tanned muscles and a thick, hard_ \- Castiel jerked back to the present, flushing slightly despite being perfectly alone. Definitely not his imagination then. So maybe Dean had slipped out last night and couldn't find his shirt in the dark. Yes, that seemed plausible. Castiel frowned, a twinge of dismay catching him by surprise. He shouldn't be offended that his one-night stand had only lasted one night... But it did kind of hurt. Castiel relaxed back onto his pillow, trying to recall every moment of last night's activities.  
  
They had left the bar around 1:00AM and, both having drank a little to much, walking back to Castiel's new house since it was closest. The walk had been perfectly innocent, wandering around the quiet streets underneath a canopy of green, when Castiel's toe hooked on the cracked sidewalk and he had stumbled. Dean's strong hands caught him easily, pulling him upright and Castiel found himself lost in those fantastic moss green eyes.  
  
"Wow. . I mean, sorry - that, uh, that wasn't-" Castiel heard himself stammering nervously, "I didn't do that on purpose you know, I just... tripped."  
  
"Mhm sure," Dean had agreed, smirking. His hands were still wrapped firmly around Castiel's waist, keeping their bodies flush together. Castiel felt himself blushing under the cool light of the moon. Then Dean had leaned in slightly, pink tongue wetting his lips as his gaze drifted downwards. Castiel was frozen with anticipation. The memory of Dean's warm breath tickling his skin as the taller man had drifted even closer left Castiel squirming in his wrinkled sheets. His skin felt hot and flushed with excitement as he relived the moment...  
  
_**RING!RING!RRIIINNG!!**  
  
_ Castiel jolted out of his reverie as his cellphone blared shrilly in his ear. Fuck. Worst timing ever.  
  
"Hel-lo?" Castiel's voice cracked, his throat still painfully dry from excessive alcohol consumption. He hauled himself to his feet and stumbled naked to the bathroom for a drink just as Hannah's clipped, business-like tone erupted from the speaker.  
  
"Castiel, I have been trying to call you for the past two hours, what on earth have you been doing?"  
  
A ripple of anger shot through Castiel's brain, "I don't see how that is any of your business, Hannah." he gritted out, as he filled a glass with tap water, "What is so urgent that you need to reach me at this hour?"  
  
"If you had checked your inbox last night you would already know that." Her voice had dropped to a hiss; a dangerous sign, "I informed you then that I would be bringing Claire to see you a couple days early - we will be there shortly."  
  
"I - you. . . What?" Castiel's muddled brain labored to catch up, "You are on your way here? _Now?"_  
  
"Yes, Castiel. Gadreel has booked us a weekend at a lake resort, from today until Sunday. I will be at your door in 15 minutes." Hannah hung up without further ado.  
  
Shit.  
  
Castiel grabbed a handful of clothes from the floor, dragging them on hurriedly as he stumbled into the sitting room. It was a disaster. He had been too depressed to clean all week and the mess had piled up rather quickly. Castiel stacked up as many dirty dishes as he could carry, piling takeout containers and empty bottles on top. Clutching the ungainly load awkwardly, Castiel rushed to the kitchen, cringing at the sight of dirty pots and pans on the stove. His brain barely had time to register the scent of freshly brewed coffee when:  
  
"Good morning, Angel."  
  
The deep voice startled Castiel so badly that he dropped half the paper takeout containers and empty beer bottles, which bounced and clattered loudly to the floor.  
  
"Fuck!" Castiel spun around, glaring at Dean to  cover his embarrassment, "I thought you left!"  
  
Dean set down the coffee mugs he was holding and began gathering up the fallen mess, "Now why would I leave without saying goodbye? Besides," His amused gaze centered on Castiel's chest, "I can't exactly leave without my shirt."  
  
Castiel looked down, realizing suddenly that he was wearing Dean's Led Zeppelin tee shirt . . . and Dean was shirtless. Shirtless and holding two steaming mugs of coffee which smelled like Heaven. Castiel swayed on the spot, wanting more than anything to drop his dishes in the sink and haul Dean back to his bedroom. But he couldn't, because Hannah was almost here and Claire was coming to stay with him.  
  
"I - Dean. Its not, I mean, last night was. . Amazing. But-" Castiel set the dirty stack of plates down, carefully avoiding eye contact.  
  
"But?" Dean cocked his head questioningly, "Are you trying to get rid of me, Cas?"  
  
"No!" Castiel responded immediately, "Except.. well. Yes? Sort of, I suppose..."  
  
"Oh." Dean's expression fell, closing off. Castiel could practically hear the walls of hurt going up around the mechanic, "I gotcha, Cas. No biggie." He set the recyclables next to the overstuffed blue bin, "I guess I can't complain - how many people can say they slept with their celebrity crush?" He grinned, but the smile didn't crinkle his eyes, "So does that make me a groupie?"  
  
Castiel ran a hand through his hair, noticing that it was tangled and mussed, reminding him of the way Dean's fingers had tugged at it. Worshiped it. Another flush of heat traveled over Castiel's skin, gathering in his belly.  
  
"I'm very sorry Dean, I truly am, but my ex-wife is on her way here to drop off my daughter and my house is..." he gestured around the cluttered kitchen, "I have to clean up - and I only have about ten minutes to do it."  
  
"Oh!" Dean said again, eyes wide, "Well, I can help! I'll wash, you dry and put away." He dropped a quick wink, the twinkle returned to his green eyes, "C'mon, hop to it. Tick tock."  
  
In a few moments the sink was filling with hot, soapy water and Dean was scrubbing enthusiastically at Castiel's leftover-crusted plates. While Dean filled the dish rack with freshly washed china, Castiel quickly took out the garbage and recycling and tidied up the dining room and sitting rooms; clearing away dirty laundry and garbage. There wasn't time to vacuum so Castiel joined Dean at the sink, drying and putting away his rather dismal collection of dishes as quickly as they were cleaned. The entire process took all of eight minutes.  
  
"There!" Dean bragged as he handed Castiel the final gleaming pot, "All done. And there's still time to get you out of my shirt..."  
  
His wet fingers caught the hem of the Zeppelin tee, drawing Castiel close. Soft lips brushed against Castiel's mouth, just a whisper of contact. Dean pulled back, searching Castiel's face for permission, then Castiel was closing the space between them. They met in a tangle of wet hands and searching tongues, Castiel found himself pressed up against the sink, gasping softly into Dean's mouth as the mechanic bit his lower lip gently. The shirt in question was halfway up Castiel's torso when the doorbell rang.  
  
"Dammit." Castiel moaned against Dean's skin, "I was really hoping she would be late."  
  
Castiel had a moment of panic then, not wanting to be rude to Dean - who had been so sweet and helpful - but also not exactly looking forward to introducing his one-night stand to his wife and daughter. Ex wife, he reminded himself sternly.  
  
The doorbell rang again, followed by several short, sharp knocks.  
  
"Hey," Dean stepped away from the counter reluctantly, "Why don't I go, y'know, hang out in the bedroom for a bit. We'll figure the rest out later."  
  
Castiel felt a surge of gratitude as he nodded quickly and hurried to answer the door, "Hi sweetie!"  
  
"Daddy!" Claire launched herself bodily into Castiel's waiting arms, knocking Castiel back onto his butt as he hugged her tightly. Hannah was standing on the stoop, holding Claire's Big Hero 6 back pack which was no doubt stuffed full of pink and frilly clothes which Claire hated. "Can we go to the playground again? PLEASE?"  
  
Castiel grinned, despite his throbbing head, "Of course we can, Claire. But first, Daddy needs some breakfast." He stood up awkwardly, Claire's arms wrapped around his neck, "Thank you for bringing her, Hannah. I'm sorry for the miscommunication this morning."  
  
Hannah thrust the bag into his free hand, "No harm done - Is that a new shirt?" Her sharp eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the faded black rock tee, "I didn't know you enjoyed that trash, Castiel."  
  
"There's plenty we didn't know about each other, Hannah." Castiel replied, acidly. He looked down the driveway to where Gadreel was sitting in the driver's seat of Castiel's own Honda Civic. "I'm sure my taste in clothing is less of a shock than the one you gave me."  
  
Hannah's mouth tightened and she looked as though she was biting back a scathing retort but she merely turned and floated down the stairs, back to their sensible family car - to another man. Castiel sucked in a deep breath, releasing the anger that welled up whenever he saw his wife's new lover. Gadreel had been Castiel's friend - he was a screenwriter who had approached Castiel about turning his novels into a movie. Castiel had turned him down but somehow he and Gadreel had remained in touch and had developed a friendship. It only made the betrayal more painful when Hannah told him.  
  
"Okay sweetie, what should we have for breakfast?" Castiel forced his attention back to his daughter as the silver car vanished, "Pancakes and strawberries and ice cream?"  
  
Claire's mouth fell open comically, "We can have _ice cream_ for breakfast?!"  
  
"Well just this once and only because Daddy doesn't have any whipped cream." Castiel chuckled at the sheer exuberance on Claire's little face, "Okay, can you take the ice cream out of the freezer and get out the big measuring cup? Daddy will be back in just a minute, okay?"  
  
Castiel discreetly scooped up Dean's discarded steel-toed boots and slipped into the hallway. He entered his bedroom with a a sigh of relief. Dean was seated on the bed, still shirtless but wearing socks now. Castiel leaned against the door, still clutching the heavy boots.  
  
"So..." Dean rubbed his palms nervously over his denim-clad thighs, "I guess I should sneak out the back then?"  
  
"Dean..." Castiel's chest tightened at the other man's pained voice, "You don't have to- you could stay, if you like."  
  
"Nah, you have to spend time with your little girl, Cas." Dean stood up, gesturing at Castiel chest, "But I am gonna need that back."  
  
Castiel let the boots fall with a thud, and stripped out of the t-shirt self-consciously. Last night the quiet writer had been uninhibited; bold, insatiable. Now, in the light of day, with his daughter in the other room, Castiel felt shy and awkward again. This was _way_ outside his comfort zone. Castiel pressed the soft, work-worn fabric into Dean's waiting hand and found a clean shirt for himself. He pulled on the simple white undershirt and tried to tame his wild locks as Dean tied his boots.  
  
"Well Castiel Novak, thank you for a great night." Dean offered his hand, rough calloused palm open, "Maybe we can do it again sometime."  
  
Castiel smiled, finally, Dean's cheeky grin easing the knot of tension in his belly, "I look forward to the possibility, Dean Winchester."  
  
Castiel let Dean out the back, watching for a moment as he vaulted easily over the fence into the alley and strode off, bow-legged and gorgeous in the morning sunshine. Castiel shut the door with a sense of finality as he chased the memory of the previous night from his mind and joined his daughter in the kitchen. 


End file.
